


Bill and Fleur's Wedding

by legallyblack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon, F/M, Oneshot, The wedding, implied Romione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legallyblack/pseuds/legallyblack
Summary: The Wedding from Hermione's POV!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Bill and Fleur's Wedding

Three o’clock on the day of the wedding found Hermione and Ginny getting ready at a quickening pace. Hermione had picked out a simple lilac-colored dress, and with much convincing from Ginny, matching heels to go with it. She was reading the instructions on the back of Sleek-Eazy's hair potion with increasing frustration. 

“How on earth did I manage to do this in my 4th year?” Ginny, who was curling her own hair, looked up. “Well, during 4th year you had a point to prove, didn’t you? Much like during the Slug Club Ball.”

“But I didn’t do anything with my hair for the Slug Club Ball.”

“Oh, right. You used Cormac as revenge, not your hair.” Ginny’s face softened as she saw Hermione’s concentrated look. Then, she swiftly marched over to where she was sitting, grabbed the bottle of potion from Hermione’s hands, and chucked it into the trash bin.

“Hey! What the hell, Ginny?” Ginny looked back at her with a smirk. “It was stressing you out too much. And besides, Ron likes your natural hair.” Hermione froze. 

Ginny had a way of saying things so nonchalantly that oftentimes she missed the true intent of her words. Her face must have given her thoughts away because the younger girl laughed.

“Oh please, you might be smart, but you’re not a very good actress. But, don’t worry. I’m almost certain that the feeling is mutual.” At these words, Hermione’s heart swelled. Could she be right? The butterflies that so often settled in her stomach at the thought of Ron started up. She gave Ginny a half-hearted smile and picked up her hairbrush. If she was going to go natural, it would take a bit. 

Thirty-five minutes later, her hair was looking decent enough to call it a day. Ginny sighed, patting out her dress. “I’m going to go down to the kitchen, wanna come...er, you ok?” Hermione, who had finished getting ready and was now pacing around the room muttering things under her breath, stopped abruptly. “I’m fine, just trying to see if I’ve forgotten anything in your room.” She smiled at Ginny, hoping that she wouldn’t question it. Unfortunately, Ginny never missed a trick. 

Her bright eyes suddenly narrowed. “Why? You’re not going anywhere. Your stuff will be here after the wedding.” She spoke with her hands on her hips, reminding Hermione very much of Mrs. Weasley. 

“Ginny—” she started, and, much to her surprise, Ginny burst into tears. This was very unlike her, and that startled Hermione even more. “Ginny, oh, I didn’t mean to upset you!” She got up hastily, unsure of how to comfort the crying girl. Ginny shook her head. “It’s ok, I just—I know you three have to go off and do something big, but I-I thought we would have the rest of the s-summer, at least!” Hermione hugged her. “Ginny, I promise we’re not leaving today. You know me, I just like to be prepared, that’s all!”

Ginny sniffed, looking up. “I’m holding you to that promise, Granger.” They laughed tearfully. Sensing that now was the time for kind words, Hermione spoke. “I expect you to. And Ginny, thank you. I would have gone crazy without any proper girl friends, and I think it’s safe to say that you are my closest girl friend.” Ginny smiled. “You’re my closest girl friend too...even if you and my brother are idiots for not getting together already.” Hermione smacked Ginny’s arm, but a smile spread on her face. Ginny took a deep breath, quickly fixed her makeup, and walked out the door, leaving Hermione alone.

Hermione composed herself, suddenly reminded of the task at hand. She knew she had promised Ginny that they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, but she was becoming increasingly more anxious by the day, and she had a sneaking suspicion that something could happen that night. Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the small beaded bag. The day before, she’d repacked it for the last time. They now had all the essentials. She knew she’d be taking it to the wedding no matter what, so it was convenient that her dress seemed to match its color. 

Tying the bag around her wrist, she grabbed her wand and quickly made her way to Ron and Harry’s room. Grabbing Harry’s black rucksack, she stuffed it as best as she could into the beaded bag. Checking herself one last time in the mirror, she left the room and made her way to the wedding tent. 

She marveled at the speed at which the garden of the Burrow had been transformed. There was a great flowy white tent stretched throughout the yard, and lively jubilee music could be heard from inside. Stumbling slighting over her heels, she paused at the entrance. _This is it,_ she thought. _This is the time to wow Ron with how pretty you look._ Merlin, she hoped she was pretty. She spotted Ron talking to another red-headed boy, who she recognized as Harry’s polyjuice disguise. Taking a deep breath, she hurried over. 

Wow,” Ron said, blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came toward them. “You look great!” “Always the tone of surprise,” said Hermione, though she smiled, heart bursting at the compliment. 

“I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.”, said George Weasley, who had emerged from the marquee with Fred. 

“Wasn’t he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?” asked Hermione. 

“Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end,” conceded George. “But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party,” said Fred. “He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his —”

“Yes, he sounds a real charmer,” said Hermione, while Harry roared with laughter. “Never married, for some reason,” said Ron. 

“You amaze me,” said Hermione. She locked eyes with him for a split second. What was this? Were they _flirting_? This was something very new to Hermione, and she was determined not to make a fool of herself.

]They were all laughing so much that none of them noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, “You look vunderful.” Her eyes widened in shock. “Viktor!” she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she cleared her throat and said, “I didn’t know you were — goodness — it’s lovely to see — how are you?” She snuck a glance at Ron.

His ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum’s invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, “How come you’re here?” “Fleur invited me,” said Krum, eyebrows raised. Harry shot a look at Hermione, and then offered to show Krum to his seat. “Bloody git,” Ron mumbled under his breath. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ron, he never did anything to you! Lay off it, he isn’t even sitting near us.” Ron looked at her with a disbelieving glare. “Fine. Let’s go sit down.” With that, he stalked off to where Harry was sitting. Hermione groaned inwardly. Why did Krum need to show and mess everything up? While Ron’s intense dislike for his once favorite celebrity continued to baffle her, she had learned quite a long time ago not to bring the Quidditch player’s name up. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George. Hermione felt as though her cheeks were rather pink and Ron’s ears were still scarlet.. A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst-colored robes with a matching hat. A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons. “Ooooh!” said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Even Hermione was put in a sort of daze as she watched the woman walk down the aisle. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked stunning, and once Fleur had reached him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Hermione saw the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union 

of two faithful souls . . .”

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Ron’s aunt Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.” Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again. Hermione grinned at Harry, who now had a lovestruck look on his face. Stifling a giggle, she turned back to the procession. 

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle . . . ?” In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpet Like sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned and beamed at Harry and Ron; her eyes were full of tears. Since she was a child, weddings had always made her emotional. 

“. . . then I declare you bonded for life.” The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures.

As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din. “Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!” They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden jacketed band trooped toward a podium.

“Smooth,” said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches. “We should go and congratulate them!” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers. 

“We’ll have time later,” shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry. “Hermione, cop hold, let’s grab a table. . . . Not there! Nowhere near Muriel —” Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went: Hermione felt sure that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. However, this time, she rather liked his possessive attitude.

By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone. “All right if we join you?” asked Ron. “Oh yes,” she said happily. “Daddy’s just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present.” “What is it, a lifetime’s supply of Gurdyroots?” asked Ron. Hermione aimed a kick at him under the table, but caught Harry instead. She apologized swiftly as he winced in pain. 

The band had begun to play. Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great applause; after a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Fleur’s father. “I like this song,” said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms. “She’s great, isn’t she?” said Ron admiringly. “Always good value.” But the smile vanished from his face at once: Viktor Krum had dropped into Luna’s vacant seat. 

Hermione gasped, flustered, but this time Krum had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, “Who is that man in the yellow?” “That’s Xenophilius Lovegood, he’s the father of a friend of ours,” said Ron. His pugnacious tone indicated that they were not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the clear provocation. 

“Come and dance,” he added abruptly to Hermione. Taken aback, she almost fainted right then and there. Ron was asking her to dance? How many times had she hoped for this exact scenario? Mustering up her courage, she nodded cordially and grabbed his outstretched hand. They vanished together into the growing throng on the dance floor. 

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments, Hermione suddenly feeling very self conscious. She quickly smoothed down her hair, and cleared her throat. “Er—I’m not much of a dancer...I mean, my parents made me take ballet classes when I was six because they wanted me to make some friends, but I was horrid at it. Not that it mattered, it was the most boring thing I had ever—” She stopped when she realized she was rambling. She suddenly felt her cheeks suddenly burn red. Ron was looking at her with a mixture of amusion and admiration. “Books and now ballet? Blimey, there’s a lot of things I don’t know about you, Hermione!” She smiled meekly. “Well then, I guess you’ll have to learn, won’t you?” It came out a lot more cheekily than she had meant it to, but Ron only grinned. Stretching out a freckled hand, he said, in his best impression of Viktor Krum, “Come dance vit me?” They burst out laughing, all earlier tension dissolved. He tentatively placed a hand on her waist, and the other on her shoulder. She gulped and placed her hands on his shoulders. Swaying in tune with the beat of the music, they shared their first dance. Those crystal blue eyes that she loved so much were now staring directly into her own brown ones, so intensely that she felt the urge to look away. Under the twinkling wedding lights, everything seemed to blur away from her vision except for his bright ginger hair. When she sighed in dreamy happiness, his eyebrows shot up. “Oh nothing,” she blushed slightly. “It’s just a beautiful wedding, isn’t it? And with everything going on?” He nodded, still swaying. “I reckon we needed a good distraction, especially Mum. I don’t wanna even think about how she’s going to get after it’s over.” She nodded in agreement. The music had swiftly changed to an upbeat ballad, and suddenly slow dancing wasn’t appropriate. Ron grinned at the song. “I love this one!” Then, to her mass amusement, he started doing an over the top jive looking dance, his long limbs flaying everywhere. Hermione covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “Ron, people are looking!” Sure enough, several guests had paused their conversations to look at Ron’s lively display. “Then join me, won’t you? Take the attention off of me solely! He suddenly grabbed her hand, pulling her into an extravagant twirl. She laughed loudly as they swayed off tempo, their hands remaining entwined.

Several minutes later, they were both out of breath. Beaming broadly, Ron scanned the tent. “I’m going to go find some butterbear for us. I’ll meet you and Harry?” She was reluctant to let go of his hand, but she nonetheless nodded, watching him disappear into the crowd. Searching for any sign of Harry, she ran into Ginny, who was evidently also trying to find him. “Hey, Gin!” 

“Hi. I was just with Luna. Her dad’s talking to Krum over there, and they seem pretty heated. Any idea what it’s about?” Hermione craned her neck and sure enough, Krum and Xenophilius Lovegood were locked in an intense looking conversation. She turned back to Ginny, shrugging.”No idea. Oh, Ginny? You need to teach me how to dance.” Ginny grinned. “I see _someone_ had a lovely time, didn’t they” Hermione rolled her eyes. As much as she loved the event, she was beginning to feel a little run down under the warm lights and extravagant dancing. Giving Ginny a parting smile, she finally spotted Harry sitting alone at a table. He gave her a half hearted smile as she sat down.

“I simply can’t dance anymore,” she panted, slipping off one of her shoes and rubbing the sole of her foot. “Ron’s gone looking to find more butterbeers. It’s a bit odd, I’ve just seen Viktor storming away from Luna’s father, it looked like they’d been arguing —” She dropped her voice, staring at him. He seemed to be in a far off place, his eyes blankly staring ahead. “Harry, are you okay?” He looked at her, evidently wanting to say something. At that moment, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”


End file.
